


Family, memory, hope

by imsfire



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Celebrations, F/M, Gen, Memory, Weddings, commemoration, partly inspired by recent meta about Davits Draven, relationships, soldiers discussing the war, the rest of Rogue One are there too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:48:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24249823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imsfire/pseuds/imsfire
Summary: A few snippets of events surrounding Cassian and Jyn's wedding.  Admiral Ackbar is wise and indulgent, Leia is amused and diplomatic, Jyn gives Cassian space and Cassian and Draven talk - a little, and awkwardly - about their relationship and their work.
Relationships: Cassian Andor & Davits Draven, Cassian Andor/Jyn Erso
Comments: 19
Kudos: 69





	Family, memory, hope

**Author's Note:**

> This is in a slightly rougher state than I would have liked and I have struggled to find a title, but today is a good day for posting it since something distasteful needs to be pushed down the listing, so here goes.  
> Editing to add; the wedding is the same one as features in 2017's May the Fourth fic, The Wedding: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10819728 which follows on from the Family Holiday series in which Jyn's pregnancy is first mentioned - https://archiveofourown.org/series/706251. I don't know how to embed links here so sorry about how messy that looks!

Leia Organa lays down her gavel with a small nod. “Thank you for your input, Senator. And that concludes our scheduled agenda for today. Do we have any other business?”

Two hands are raised: Ackbar, in the front row, and a human hand a row back, behind Aeren Cracken and Davits Draven. She has to peer a little, past the two tall men, to see who it is. Cassian Andor; which is interesting. He’s only here as Draven’s aide and he’s usually a silent listening presence; has never to her recollection raised an issue at any meeting he’s attended.

Ackbar first, though. “Yes, Admiral?”

The upright Mon Cala inclines his head to her courteously. “I am sure I’m not the only member of this Council who has been asked whether the New Republic will erect war memorials and commemorative statues, and when we’re going to remove ones set up by the Empire. Up till now, I have answered that it’s a subject of immense delicacy and we cannot proceed until it has been debated in depth. Until all those who have views to share have been giving due and fair hearing. But people grow frustrated at how reluctant the Council seems to address this issue. I propose that we begin to do so at our next meeting. Perhaps an initial discussion might be placed on the agenda?”

Leia looks around the table; several faces are frowning, others look down in guilt or irritation, but it seems no-one is prepared actively to oppose an idea they must all know will have to be addressed sooner or later. Establishing war memorials, and a day of commemoration, should be perfectly possible, but the question of removing old Imperial monuments is deeply contentious. Statues, public buildings, street names; the Empire took care to commemorate its leaders and those it considered heroes as visibly as possible. Some of the names were changed, the statues torn down, spontaneously; but in the places where they weren’t…

She nods to the droid recording the meeting. “Let the record state that this issue will be item number one on the agenda at our next session. I’m sorry, people, but it’s time to face up to this. Thank you for raising it, Admiral… Now – Captain Andor, you had a question also?”

He looks impassive but his voice is fractionally lighter than usual. She knows that’s from tension; but he trained her, so it probably isn’t going to embarrass him too much that she can spot his tell. “Thank you, _Princesa_. It’s not a question, really, though. And I’m sorry, it’s really something quite trivial, unlike the Admiral’s point.” He clears his throat very slightly. “I wondered if – if there was a possibility of the Council discussing at some point whether the rule regarding fraternisation among the troops might be relaxed.” He clears his throat again. One could almost imagine him embarrassed; but whoever heard of such a thing, Cassian Andor, embarrassed? “Everyone knows it’s against regulations, but at the same time we all know the practice is widespread. We all know that morale would be severely impacted if the policy were to be enforced strictly; but if it is continually ignored there is a danger of efficiency falling off as serving troops become lax and place personal loyalties ahead of their duties. It’s incumbent on officers to maintain a delicate balance on this issue, even though – please forgive my bluntness – even though this makes many of us hypocrites.” He bites his lip, perhaps to hide the faint trace of a smile she detects for a second, and goes on. “To be perfectly frank, I wonder if it is necessary to insist on retaining it at all, especially for those who have already put in for discharge following the signing of the Concordances.”

Leia find herself smiling as a surprisingly large number of heads around the gathering start to nod agreement. Even Draven, albeit with a raised eyebrow and pursed lips at the mention of hypocrisy. 

Officially every unmarried fighter in the Alliance is celibate, but unofficially, as Cassian just reminded them, pretty much no-one is, unless they genuinely want to be. Perhaps she’s not the only one to have felt a degree of shame in having pursued a love affair while still a ranking General.

“An excellent point, Captain Andor. Does anyone have any comments?”

There’s a short silence and then a murmur of agreement. No-one seems to be keen to express themselves too vocally, and it seems more and more clear that most of the beings around the table have either indulged in romantic attachments, or turned a blind eye to their subordinates doing so. 

“Perhaps there’s no need even for discussion?” says Ackbar, forthright as ever. “I propose the ban be overturned as of today. All those in favour?”

Leia raises the gavel, and grins behind it at how swiftly some hands come up. Pretty soon there’s an overwhelming majority.

“Let the record show the Council has voted seventeen to three in favour of removing the official ‘no fraternisation’ policy.”

She meets Cassian Andor’s eye, and for just an instant he crinkles up his eyes at her before quieting his expression into the most classic spy face ever.

_Oh no, I know what you’re thinking, and you do not get to tease me about this…_

As the meeting disperses she watches as he steps up to Admiral Ackbar, saying in a quiet voice “Thank you for your support, Sir.” He clears his throat again, and suddenly relaxes; and just like that he’s beaming like a Loth-cat in a basin of blue cream. “I wonder if I might ask you a favour?”

Draven hovers, both eyebrows raised now. This is certainly a long way from regular protocol; it sounds almost informal. But the Mon Cala are devotedly indulgent of the Heroes of Scarif, and all the Admiral does is roll his large golden eyes good-humouredly and say “What can I do for you, Captain?”

“Ahem. For obvious reasons we haven’t been telling anyone, but Lieutenant Erso and I are engaged, Sir. I was wondering if you would be prepared to officiate at the marriage. We’d like to hold it next month if possible.”

Well. She should have seen that coming.

General Draven’s mouth drops open, and then closes again, very sharply. And is it her imagination, or does his face flicker with feeling for just a moment, like water-shadows on a stream bed? - a myriad micro-expressions, astonishment, irritation, and hurt at the irritation, and joy, all mixed with frank disbelief… His eyes have gone very wide and very bright, his own spy-face mask shocked right off him. As she watches, unsure whether it’s possible or fair to pity a man like the General, he swallows visibly and pulls himself together, and then moves towards Cassian, offering a handshake.

“May I offer my congratulations, Captain? And I would just like to say that – while I completely understand why I would not be your first choice – I would be more than happy to perform the necessary ceremony if the Admiral is unable to assist you.”

Cassian’s eyes are almost as wide as the Mon Calmari’s now and for a split second it’s his turn to gape. He shakes Draven’s hand carefully. Swallows, blinks, bites his lips, controlling his expression quickly. 

Ackbar is spluttering with delight and he reaches out to pat them both on the back with his huge hands. “I would be honoured! And General Draven, you will be my Second? It’s our tradition; if I should cease to swim between now and the wedding date, it falls to my Second to perform any duties I’ve left unfinished.”

Draven nods; there’s something alarmingly close to a smile on his thin lips. Cassian still looks a little stunned and Leia steps in quickly to give him a few moments to collect himself. “Congratulations, Captain. I’m so happy for you! Jyn is a lucky woman.”

“I’m a lucky man.” He’s smiling again; he shakes the Admiral’s great webbed appendage, shakes hers, finds himself shaking Draven’s again and blinks in surprise as they both pull back slightly in defensive awkwardness. Oh, this would be funny if it weren’t also sad…

But a wedding is a wedding. And a sudden thought strikes her. “You realise this will be one of the first weddings of the peace? We’d better make it a good one. The rebellion has been your family, after all; time for it to make good on that, I think.”

**

At the back of the mess hall, at the stage when things have got very relaxed indeed, Jyn emerges from the bathroom to find her newly-wed husband leaning against a wall, avoiding company and watching the dancers in the middle of the floor. Baze and Chirrut had been dancing the two-step when she slipped away; now they’re marshalling a crowd into a circle and attempting to teach them some kind of ring dance from Jedha. She can see Bodhi, his wreath of flowers hanging crooked now, eagerly relaying the instructions to the far side of the circle.

She’s about to sneak up beside Cassian and grab him, maybe go for the waist-cuddle his thoughtful expression brings out in her, when she notices someone else standing on his right. General Draven, holding a tall glass of the effervescent ice-wine General Solo contributed for the toast. By the looks of him he’s consumed a certain amount already; his tired, taut face is rather pink and he looks soft about the mouth, as though he would like to yawn and is suppressing it.

She remembers Cassian talking, sadly and guardedly, about how he was recruited and trained by the weary man standing next to him now. How he thought of him for a time almost like a new father. 

If Davits Draven wants a private chat with his one-time protégé, perhaps she should just let them talk. The General is no more at ease around her than she is around him, her father’s ghost hanging between them no matter how long they serve the same cause.

She works her way back, keeping out of Cassian’s sightlines, and heads for the buffet table again. There’s still so much cheese, and a whole fruit cake; it would be a shame not to enjoy a little bit more. The habit of never wasting food is unlikely to die quickly, and besides, she’s eating for two.

**

“I’ve been meaning to apologise,” Cassian says quietly “but there never seemed to be a good time. And I didn’t know if you wanted me to. If this was one of the things you’d prefer not to hear said.”

Davits Draven takes another gulp of wine and wishes he hadn’t. It’s delicious. Delicious is a thing he isn’t used to, yet; pleasure taken in food and drink, in having food made for enjoyment, and the time to savour it. Pleasure, freedom, safety, all the blessings of peace, all are still so very unfamiliar that most nights he wakes sweating and shaking in the certainty they’d all been a dream. 

He moistens his lips and says slowly “You don’t owe me an apology.”

“Ah. Of course not, sir.”

From Cassian’s expression, it seems he’s taken that as confirmation that this is something best not verbalised. But that isn’t – isn’t at all – what Draven wants to say, and he makes himself go on, though the wine-buzz and the flotsam of incompatible emotions churning in his brain. “If anything, Captain – Cassian – it’s I who owe you one.”

Dead silence. He can almost imagine it muffling the happy din around them. For a moment he wishes Erso would march up and end the conversation with some remark, sappy or smart-arse-y. But she doesn’t. He can see her hovering near the buffet table, talking to Baze Malbus.

“I’m sure you know what I mean,” he says “but I think I need to tell you anyway. May I tell you? I am – I am very glad you’re alive. I’m glad you made it. And Lieutenant Erso made it. And I’m sorry for everything I made you do.” The words are dry and lumpen as rocks in his gullet but he’s managed to vomit them up just the same. He clears his throat and forces out the rest of it. This is what has to be said; the little part of it that can be, at least. “You were the best and you were strong enough to live through it but I’m still sorry. You were just a kid. I’m sorry it had to be done.”

A few bars of music roll by them before “It did have to be done,” Cassian says. “It was for the right reasons. I couldn’t have lived with myself if I hadn’t done everything I could.”

“But you were a child and I made you do things that –“

Cassian shakes his head. “I made myself.” And surely it isn’t just the wine that gives a cautious hope to his smile. “We all have to get used to the peace now, and find new ways to live, don’t we? Ways to live with the past. Ways to move forward from that.”

He seems to be waiting for an acknowledgement. Draven gets out a word through the dryness in his throat. “Yes.”

“When you found me, on Fest, when you gave me a chance, you did the right thing. Please don’t forget that. I never have. You didn’t make a child soldier of me. I was one already. You taught me to be a better one, just like you taught me to be a better shot, a better analyst, a better observer. You gave me something useful to do with my anger and I am grateful for that.”

Draven allows himself a tiny huff of rueful humour at being counselled by his own protégé. “And don’t forget who taught you to be a pragmatist.”

Cassian nods. Says simply “I know.” But then, and with sudden feeling “It’s never going to be easy or simple to live with it but I don’t accept that you damaged me any more than I would have been damaged anyway, one way or another. I’d be letting down everything I fought for and everything you taught me if I start thinking now that my – that my sins outweigh the cause behind them!” His eyes are brilliant, with more than just emotion. “It was a lot more important than me, or you, or any one of us individually, and I will always believe that.”

Draven blinks. “Thank you, just the same.” The words feel dry, despite all the wine making his vision spark and go bright. “Thank you for not blaming me.”

“I’m working on not blaming myself, and I’ll work on it for as long as I have to. Not blaming you either seems an important part of that. In the end we both did what we had to do, what had to be done. And it was enough.”

Draven looks out, at the mess hall full of music and happiness; at the impossible possibility that this peace is real, and may even last, and all the work there is now to be done, to make it so. Faces he’s known for decades, that he has never seen smile before this year. Races he has never known except as refugees or as the bitter, bitter warriors of vengeance, who now stand looking at the future and allowing themselves to believe in it.

His own face, his own bitterness, among them. Now his own hope has to be with theirs, too. It will not change a single one of the things he’s regretted, to refuse himself permission to move on. It will not further the new Republic he’s broken himself and a thousand others in pieces to create.

His agents deserve forgiveness, and renewal, and the hope they’ve given so much to see. All the chances he would argue all night to persuade Cassian to accept, he must also accept for himself. 

If Cassian can forgive and move on, if Jyn Erso can learn to work with him without hating him, then he has to learn it too. And for the sake of the larger cause, he’ll try to.

It is enough. 


End file.
